Painted black
by kay245
Summary: John has been summoned at 221 Baker Street. But what he witnesses is quite far from what he might have ever imagined. Since when does Sherlock listen to rock music?


One thing John had become used to throughout the wears, was that entering 221B Baker Street would always provide him with the unexpected. In the span of time since he'd first visited the flat, he'd found a human head in the fridge, come on up many a drug-search party, barely dressed damsels, not to mention a demonstration of serviette folding. The last being the weirdest thing he'd assisted to date. So, if you'd have asked John Watson, he'd have told you that he'd seen it all and nothing could ever surprise him anymore. And yet…

The former army doctor was currently frozen in shock at the threshold of 221B's main room as he looked at his best friend. The black haired man was sitting at his desk in front of what looked like several disembowelled computers. The machines appeared to have been mauled by a cruel creature before being chaotically assembled again by a mad scientist. Said mad scientist was using a soldering iron on one of the dismembered piece. After a last operation, the man lifted his head and briefly nodded at John.

"Oh, hello John." Said the deep baritone voice in a friendly manner.

John almost did a double take at the tone. Sherlock was seldom used to greetings and even less in such an amicable tone. But of course, this was the least of things that felt utterly wrong about the consulting detective. Sherlock, who never strayed from his tailored suits and expensive shirts was as of that day dressed in dark jeans and a somewhat loose rock band T-shirt and at his feet, in place of his formal shoes, were a pair of sturdy black boots. But it became even curiouser and curiouser when one observed Sherlock's face. The man in front of him had cut most of his trademark curls and whatever of those that remained had been slicked back from his face. And then, there were the glasses. Black, half-framed glasses that reflected the blue light of the screen of the computer on which the detective was furiously typing in what looked like a sort of code. All in all, the look agreed on him, giving him a nerdy and yet virile look – and did it weirded John out that he was able to appreciate that. But it also muted the out-of-the-ordinary quality that Sherlock exuded whenever he went. As a matter of fact, he almost looked… normal. John opened his mouth, finally thinking that it would be polite to return his friend's greeting when he heard a muttered "Finally" and almost jumped out of his skin as the first notes of the Stones sounded in the room with a clarity one would never have guessed at from non-existent speakers.

John looked around him as his brain was trying to come to term with what he was seeing. Was he dreaming? Was this some sort of hallucination provoked by another drugged tea – not that he remembered drinking any tea? And then, the black-haired man grimaced:

"This won't do at all." He grumbled.

John almost sighed in relief as the music cut out and the man started typing on the keyboard of the Frankenstein creature of a computer in front of him. But before the blogger could really relax, the Stones sounded again. Only this time, the song had a gritty quality to it that could only come from a vinyl record. John turned around once more, trying to find the adequate equipment for such a thing but could only conclude that the sound was coming from the monstrous machine that enthralled his best friend. Or more accurately, did.

"Ah much better. Civilisation at last!" exclaimed his friend with a big smile on his face as he relaxed back into his chair.

"Is this Painted Black?" asked cautiously John, trying to decipher what had happened to his best friend. "By the Stones?" he added.

"Of course. I did say civilisation, didn't I?" replied the detective with a raised brow and patronizing voice. This, John did know pretty well from the detective.

"Well, it never was played here before. At least, not when I was living here." Said John, still quite dismayed at the change he was looking at.

"A tragedy, I quite agree." Answered the shrugging man in front of him. And then, with no other care for his guest, he returned to his iron and selected another piece of technologic hardware to meld to the machine.

John gaped a little more, wondering if this was for a case. But what case would entail Sherlock to play at a geek inside his own home with no other witness than him? It didn't made sense. And suddenly, John felt a chill as he came up with the one possibility he hadn't thought of.

"Are you high?" he asked the doctor with a steely voice.

The fingers on the keyboard ceased typing for a second and then started again. The man didn't turn his head so John couldn't guess if that pause was due to the question or just something Sherlock was thinking on.

"Since I haven't touched anything in this god forsaken kitchen. I'm pretty sure I'm not." Answered the detective, his eyes still glued to the screen but his voice letting out a hint of disgust.

John felt his brows rise to his hairline. This was the first time that Sherlock had ever acknowledged the frankly awful state of the kitchen. But, if nothing else, there was no sign of Sherlock's childish behaviour that came out when he was high. No, he seemed focused and not at all petulant. So, another guess…

"Have you bashed your head into something?" asked John before adding "Or someone?" It was the only explanation that could explain such a drastic change in personality.

"Nope." Said laconically the man.

John opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again and was on the verge of getting his phone to call Molly in the hypothesis that his first theory was right but was interrupted when he heard a deep baritone voice from behind him say.

"Ah John, you're here. Good…" John whirled on himself only to be faced with Sherlock. Well, another Sherlock, this one attired his trademark way. The only unusual thing about him was the shock and anger painting itself on his face as he surveyed the scene before him. "What have you done to my computers?" Bellowed the consulting detective.

Nerdy Sherlock finally raised his eyes from the screen and smirked at detective Sherlock in what could only be called devious and devilish smile.

"I'm improving them. Now you have a worthy computer instead of those pieces of junk. Apple, really?" tsked the man disapprovingly as he returned to melding another piece to the machine.

John, whose eyes had been going from one Sherlock to the other, couldn't remember one day he'd been more gobsmacked than this day.

"Stay away from my things! And what is that noise?" asked Sherlock as he marched toward his doppelganger.

"Real music, much unlike the cat howling that comes from your violin." Replied the man with the glasses as he hunched over the computer to protect it from the wrath of the detective.

"Oh, don't try that with me. It hasn't worked since I was nine." Snarled Sherlock Holmes.

"Eleven." Countered the man as he stood up and placed himself in front of the machine.

At this, John was reminded of the first time he'd seen Mycroft and Sherlock interact. And the light dawned. This was Sherlock's brother. It had to be. None ever did childish feud like the Holmes brothers.

"You have a brother." Sputtered John as he looked at the twins.

The two men turned to him. Sherlock with a patronizing look on his face and the other brother with a smirk.

"Obviously." Said the two at the same time before sharing a furious look.

"No, I mean you have a twin brother." Tried to explain John. He didn't know if he should feel angry at the fact that Sherlock never told him about having another brother, let alone a twin. He even wondered if Molly knew. If she did, she'd never let on.

"I would say that it is also quite obvious since we share the same appearance. Not that it would keep him satisfied and off my things." Answered Sherlock still shooting furious glances at his brother.

"Please, like it's such an advantage! You can't even imagine how irksome it'd been since you've become a minor celebrity. Everyone thinking I was bloody Sherlock Holmes, the detective with the stupid hat! Can't tell you how many missions it ruined…" grumbled Sherlock's brother as he crossed his arms against his chest in irritation.

"Pfff… Because you actually go outdoors and leave your precious computers?" asked Sherlock snickering.

John could feel that yet another dispute was brewing and decided to intervene.

"Sorry to interrupt. But before you resume your petty fight, could I ask for an introduction?" he asked, irritation piercing noticeably in his voice.

Sherlock and his brother both clamped their mouth shut and looked at one another. After a silent discussion between the two, Sherlock finally opened his mouth once again and said:

"This is Sherrrinford. My elder twin brother."


End file.
